


And no matter what you lost (be it a home, a love, a friend)

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the perfect, the good, and how to get from dreaming of one to living the other</p>
            </blockquote>





	And no matter what you lost (be it a home, a love, a friend)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for the bardsbirthdayexchange. I hope this is what my prompter hoped for.

Iago had never been what one would call well-liked. He was an acceptably smart child, who grew up and studied to be a reasonably decent lawyer, but neither of those had ever translated into having any friends.

Any friends apart from Othello, that was. Othello, who was beautiful and well-travelled and brilliant and loveable. Othello, who had on that one fateful day in middle school stepped in to save Iago from yet another beating at the hands of yet another bully. Othello, who had never once been bothered by Iago’s awkwardness, by Iago’s defensive aggression, by Iago’s, well, iagoness.

Of course Iago loved him. Iago had loved him when he was barely thirteen and only just starting to understand what love meant. It had been terrifying and confusing, and Iago hadn’t slept for days trying to understand why his body was suddenly betraying him in such a manner. His heartbeat would speed up, and he would become clumsy and unable to concentrate. And, worst of all, if he did give in to sleep, there were the dreams. Dreams filled with heat and need and a strange sort of violence, and Iago woke up feeling either dissatisfied, sticky, or, on particularly bad days, both.

Othello, of course, never even noticed his friend’s distraction. Iago was good at hiding himself, and Othello had his first girlfriend, and didn’t pay as much attention to his friend as he would usually have.

Iago was jealous. He would allow himself that much. At home, at night, when no one would know, he told the darkness about how much he hated Dianna, how much he hated that she had Othello's attention, when Iago didn't. How much he wanted Othello to hold his hand, to kiss him, to love him. But by daylight, Iago knew perfectly well that nothing would come of it but losing his best friend. His only friend, for that matter. And so he said nothing, he was polite towards Dianna, and he waited. His time would come, or at least Dianna's time would pass.

***

Dianna's time passed, but Iago's still didn't come. After middle school, there was high school, Othello on the basketball team, a hero, somebody everyone admired. Iago wasn't part of any team or group or any extracurricular activities. He hid in the library and played chess against an old and slow computer. He read any book he could lay his hands on. He learned to dance, alone in his room, from books and a skipping record the librarian had recommended. He dreamed, of better days and of finally being alone again, alone with his best friend.

Instead, Marylinn happened. Othello adored her, and she adored him in turn. It was sickening and jealousy curled sour and cold around Iago's heart. So when Othello asked him why he never had a girlfriend, over and over again, when Othello told him how miraculous it felt to be in love, Iago did the only thing he could think of. "I'm gay," he said, counted to three, and then ran. He joined the schools GSA the next day, and avoided Othello for a week.

"Thank you for telling me," Othello said on an otherwise unremarkable Monday, having finally tracked down Iago. "It means a lot to know that you trust me that much."

Iago made some sort of non-committal 'hm' sound.

"There is a new movie on, something with a lot of cars and explosions. We could go see it."

"M-hm," Iago said.

"You don't want to?"

"M-m," Iago said.

"Great," Othello said. "I'm buying you popcorn."

All in all, it had't turned out to be as horrible as Iago had feared, but it hadn't turned out as well as he had hoped, either, since Othello didn't break up with Marylinn for another year.

***

College was a hell all of its own. Of course Iago and Othello shared a room, and it might have been a dream come true, had it not been for Jerome. That had been a revelation all of its own, of course. It had been early December when Othello had brought Iago a bar of his favourite chocolate, and locked the door, and whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Iago had been equal parts hopeful and terrified, but he'd put his book aside, and accepted the chocolate, and his voice was almost steady when he said, "So talk."

Othello had stammered for a moment, starting various sentences but never finishing any of them, and Iago had eaten his chocolate and waited.

"I met someone," Othello finally said.

"That tends to happen around here, yes."

"You know what I mean!"

"You never bothered to get nervous when that was what you meant."

"His name's Jerome," Othello said, staring at his feet.

"And?", Iago said.

"I'm bisexual," Othello told his feet.

"And?", Iago repeated.

"You're being a dick," Othello told the door, and then slammed it behind him.

They didn't talk for several days afterwards.

Othello brought him more chocolate, and said, "I was just expecting more of a reaction from you, I guess. Sorry."

"It's alright, I was being a bit unpleasant," Iago said, and took the chocolate.

Jerome turned out to be just as much an annoyance as Dianna and Marylinn had been. Worse, yet, he was trying to befriend Iago. And Iago had no patience for being befriended by somebody who'd taken his best friend, and who was at the same time proof positive that Othello would never be interested in Iago.

It had been easier thinking Othello was heterosexual, was by definition not interested in Iago like that. Knowing that Othello could theoretically be attracted to him, but fell in love with someone who was about as different from Iago as it was possible hurt much more than thinking Othello would never love him ever did.

Iago went back to making plans, on the nights Othello was out with Jerome. He would lie in bed, stare at the darkness overhead, and whisper about hurting Jerome, about spreading rumours, about finding a convenient flight of stairs Jerome might encounter in a dark and stormy night. Daylight never saw any of those thoughts, never saw any of the words. Daylight saw Iago polite and pleasant towards Jerome and carelessly affectionate towards Othello. Daylight only ever saw Iago trying to be a good friend.

***

Jerome didn't last long past college, and by the time Iago got his first decent job that didn't entail making either coffee or copies for others, Othello and Desdemona were making plans to get married. Iago had no idea how any of it happened, and he didn't care much. Hours were hard, and his pay was still short, and what little time he could spend with his friend he didn't want to waste on talking about yet another person managing to catch Othello's eyes when Iago had been trying and failing for over a decade by this point.

Of course he had to be Othello's best man. He wore a suit and his blandest smile all through the ceremony and celebratory dinner, and tried to ignore his heart breaking. When Emilia, Desdemona's best friend, apparently, offered to him a ride home that night, he didn't think twice about accepting. When Emilia asked if he was free for lunch the following Tuesday, he didn't think twice, either.

He still wasn't thinking when lunch on Tuesday became a tradition, or when Friday night turned into movie night, a curious mix between Emilia's favourite action movies and the documentaries Iago loved. Othello, of course, was far too busy being married and being in love for either, and Iago never quite stopped feeling jealous or resentful. He did, however, stop telling the darkness about it. He told Emilia, instead. Emilia, who smiled at him and said, "I know the feeling."

It had been just about a year since the wedding when the pipes in Emilia's apartment decided to stop working and Iago didn't even bother thinking once before offering her a place to stay. It took them a weekend to turn the second bedroom in Iago's apartment into something closer to bedroom than to either office or storage, and by the end of it, Emilia's crafting supplies had taken over large parts of the living room, the kitchen held foods that Iago knew would populate his nightmares, the DVD and book shelves were overflowing, and the bathroom cabinet had finally acquired a decent first aid kit. Emilia's room was small, and it barely held a bed and a wardrobe. Iago thought it only fair that she got more space in the rest of the apartment.

They got along surprisingly well, and sharing the rent left both of them significantly richer. The first month's difference, they spent on a trip to Ikea, replacing the couch Emilia hated, buying yet more bookshelves, and finally getting a decent set of knives and a good set of pots and pans.

Iago's apartment turned into Iago's and Emilia's home, and her name was on the lease alongside his barely two months later. They fought, and Emilia left damp towels on the bathroom floor, and Iago forgot to buy milk, but the remainder of the time, it was the best living arrangement Iago ever had.

"So, when are the two of you getting married?", Desdemona asked when Emilia invited her and Othello for dinner one day.

Emilia stared at Iago. Iago stared back. They burst out laughing.

"Is there something we should know about?", Othello asked.

"No, no," Emilia managed between fits of laughter.

"I'm gay, Othello!", Iago said, trying for stern, but missing by a mile and an attack of badly-timed giggles.

"Called it!", Emilia crowed, holding out her hand.

"I though you would be more disappointed about this," Desdemona said, handing over a not insubstantial amount of money. "After all, you were pining for him quite badly, weren't you?"

Emilia shoved the money into her pockets, and then shook her head, and burst into laughter again. "He's my friend," she said. "I'm not interested in him romatically."

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then Emilia took a deep breath, and said, "If we are making confessions here, I'm not interested in anyone romantically. Never have been, probably never will be."

"Oh," Desdemona said.

"Nice," Iago said.

"Nice?", Emilia asked.

"Well, means you're not suddenly going to fall in love and move out, right?"

Emilia punched Iago, and then shook her head. "Not planning on it, no."

***

The twins were born in July and christened in September, Micha and Sasha. Desdemona died barely a week after Christmas in a car accident. Emilia didn't tell Iago about it. She just came home and said, "We need to find a bigger place."

Iago started looking.

By the end of February, they had taken a bank loan and owned a nice house out in the suburbs. Othello only ever came to visit on the bad days. It had turned into a habit by late spring. Othello would ring the doorbell, a child in each arm, tears in his eyes. And either Iago or Emilia would be home, would let Othello in and feed him chicken soup and take over babysitting duties for an afternoon or an evening or even an entire weekend when things were really bad.

Autumn came, and the twins started babbling and Emilia started childproofing the house. The bad days came more often, and Iago found new work, another office, lower wages, but he could work from home. Emilia didn't comment on it. She didn't comment either when the guestroom slowly turned into Othello's room.

Spring came again, however, and she helped Othello move the last of his belongings from his apartment to her and Iago's house. A month later, she went with him to Ikea to buy two children's beds. Iago, meanwhile, was painting the walls of the one room they had so far used for storage, and childproofing all electrical outlets.

It was an adventure to convince the kids to sleep in their own room, in their own beds instead of on whichever adult happened to be closest when they fell asleep. The first few weeks, Emilia and Iago and Othello took turns, sitting between the two children's beds, singing lullabies and telling bedtime stories, trying to reassure the twins of their presence without keeping them awake.

By July, Micha was walking, and Sasha had opted for inflicting pencils on various walls and doors instead. Iago laughed, and spent afternoons trying to clean away the paint. Othello, finally getting better, dragged Iago and the twins to the park afterwards, buying icecream for all three of them.

By Christmas time, Othello had found work again, part-time so that he could spend time with his children. Iago hadn't minded looking after them while his friend was recovering, but it was good, sharing the burden of it. Emilia laughed at both of them, and told them she had finally been promoted.

Iago made dinner, and Othello found non-alcoholic champagne, and they celebrated Christmas a day early and Emilia's promotion a day late. It was far from perfect, and Micha was trying to eat the Christmas tree while Sasha was trying out his new pencils more on the carpet than on any kind of paper, and the next morning, Iago would have to look up whether the colour was water-soluble.

By midnight, Othello had fallen asleep on the couch, Emilia had long since gone to bed, and Iago was telling the twins the story about the twins who refused to go to sleep, trying to make his voice as monotonous as he possibly could.

It wasn't the life he had expected, and it wasn't the life he had hoped for, but he lived with the man he loved and with his best friend, and between the three of them, they were managing to raise two children without too much disaster.

It was a good life. More importantly, it was a good life Iago had, and as much as he at times still resented it, it was far better than a perfect life he could only ever dream of.


End file.
